


Why The Struggle, Prince O'Mine?

by Tiofrean



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn Is Bored, Blatant Disregard of Courtly Behaviour, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Faramir Doesn't Approve, How Do I Tag, Implied Anal Sex, M/M, Quickies, and horny, until he does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: When the king is bored and horny, he tries to seduce his prince. The prince resists... for a time.





	Why The Struggle, Prince O'Mine?

**Author's Note:**

> A little something that popped up in my head. MermaidSheenaz kept an eye on it to make sure it didn't suck. If it does, it's my fault entirely. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

“We cannot!” Faramir’s scandalized voice was hushed, but the words were loud enough to make Aragorn chuckle. The king had him pressed against the wall in his study - on their way  _ out _ of the study - and Faramir could hardly breathe. Aragorn’s eyes were fiery and his lips were hungry where they trailed a wet path from his prince's collarbone to his ear, teeth grazing over the lobe. “Aragorn!” Faramir admonished, somehow worming his own hands between them and pushing the king away. 

Surprised, the shocked expression quickly morphing into a knowing smirk, the king stumbled back. His royal robes were already wrinkled, his breeches tented with the hardness Faramir had felt just a moment ago, pressing urgently into his hip.    
“But, my prince!” Elessar whined, opening his eyes widely and putting on his most endearing expression.  He looked like a begging puppy, the likes of which Faramir had seen outside the citadel - and had secretly slipped them a bite to eat countless of times \- but the Prince of Ithilien wouldn’t be fooled.  _ No puppy could pout like this.  _

“We have a meeting we need to get back to. Those high lords of Belfalas that wish to trade fish with Minas Tirith? Do you even remember … no! Don’t even try it!” Faramir cried out when Aragorn lunged at him, caging him against the wall with his arms braced on both sides of the younger man’s head.    
“And how do you want to get away now?” Aragorn challenged, raising his eyebrows and grinning at him wolfishly. Faramir let his gaze slip down between them, a suggestive smirk overcoming his lips.    
“I could kick you, with my knee, right  _ here…” _ And with that, the prince sneaked one hand down, cupping it between his king’s thighs. Aragorn groaned, head falling forward, his whole body rocking up for more of the touch.    
“You wouldn’t  _ dare,” _ he mumbled, raising his pleading gaze when the hand disappeared.    
“Maybe not, but only because I have way too much fun with this,” Faramir announced, diving forward and pressing his lips quickly to Aragorn’s mouth. 

When the king followed him blindly, seeking to deepen the too brief kiss, the prince laughed and ducked down, effortlessly avoiding him and disentangling himself from the embrace, making for the door. He somehow managed to take a few hurried steps, a broad smile etched firmly on his face, when he felt a firm grip ensnaring his wrist. The next thing he knew, he was tugged to the side and into a small alcove, no bigger than a little balcony, walled in its entirety with windows overseeing the gardens outside the palace. The little place had been constructed specifically for one of the previous queens of Gondor, for she had liked to sit here and observe the world beneath her feet. 

Now, with the both of them ruling the kingdom, with their thirst for roughness and plainness, there was no need for such measures. They enjoyed sneaking between their people far too much to let themselves be caged inside the palace. That is, until they had duties to perform, such as meeting with the delegation from Belfalas. 

“By Eru, Aragorn!” Faramir exclaimed, squishing down the urge to throw his hands in the air in exasperation. Elessar was done pulling the curtain behind them closed, and turned around to eye him predatorily. “I know you hate those meetings, but they do have to take place!”    
“We don’t have to be there, though.”    
“We don’t have to…  _ Aragorn! _ You are the king! What if they can’t come to an agreement and start another argument like on the last meeting with the lords of Anórien?”    
“Oh so what, let them quarrel! Let them fight!” Aragorn waved his hand, almost as if he was waving away Faramir’s concerns. He stepped closer, right into his prince’s space, pressing their bodies close. Faramir could feel the heat radiating off him, his resolve crumbling with every beat of his heart. 

“I vowed to serve Gondor,” he mumbled, tipping his head back when Aragorn leaned in close and pressed his lips against his neck.    
“And the king of this fine realm needs you right now,” Elessar muttered, licking a slow path down from his ear to the collar of his velvet robes. His prince had the unique feature of making him all hot and bothered, but like this - dressed in dark finery, with the White Tree glinting silver on his chest - he was truly irresistible. Aragorn hummed, letting his hands wander, rucking up those expensive clothes and slipping his fingers into every gap he encountered, hoping to find a sliver of skin he could feast upon. Faramir squirmed against him. 

“They will be wondering where we had disappeared,” the prince breathed out, his voice weak. Aragorn was persistent in his search and soon, he had his hands splayed over his stomach, fingertips grazing his ribs, and Faramir found himself shuddering.    
“Let them wonder! Maybe they will come to the same conclusion as we have and forget the bloody meeting entirely!” The king rasped, working the fastenings of Faramir’s robes with his teeth, in lieu of his otherwise occupied hands.    
_ “We _ have not decided  _ anything!” _ The prince gasped, his head thudding back against the glass behind him, eyes fluttering closed.    
“Yes we have.” Aragorn pulled away, frustrated with the lack of progress with their clothes. He eyed his prince, now bearing  a very comely blush, before he let his gaze travel lower, stopping on the very telltale bulge. “I can see you are as in favor of this decree as I am,” he suggested with a rakish grin, one eyebrow arched elegantly, daring Faramir to protest. 

The prince groaned, rubbing his hands over his face, then looking at his king. There was something undeniably boyish in the grin stretching his lips, in the soft crinkling of the corners of Aragorn’s eyes. Faramir shook his head.    
“You’re impossible.”    
“Quite the opposite,” Aragorn stated, leaning in closer and pressing them together once more, letting Faramir feel exactly how  _ possible _ he was. The young prince groaned helplessly.    
“What of your duty?” Faramir reminded him weakly.    
“I’m fulfilling it by keeping my dear prince sated and happy,” Aragorn answered, his voice getting on a very seductive tone, almost purring into Faramir’s ear. It turned Faramir’s blood into hot lava and he moaned when Aragorn’s fingers finally slipped beneath his breeches, loosening the ties as they went, drawing him out. 

The smell of arousal was heavy in the air - or in whatever air he could gasp in, as the king wrapped his palm around him and started to move it expertly. The setting was way too familiar, Aragorn’s proximity making him feel too hot inside his own skin, and he bit his lip not to be too loud when the first beads of precome slicked his king’s hand.    
“See? Happy,” Aragorn concluded, angling his head to kiss the young prince deeply.    
“This is  _ filthy,” _ Faramir gasped out as soon as they broke apart, his cheeks reddening when he thought about the mess Aragorn’s fingers were leaving on the front of his robes. But Elessar did not seem concerned in the least, nibbling along the tendons on his neck and pushing his nose into the fine hair right behind Faramir’s ear.    
“Filthy? Why, my dear prince, let me remedy that!” 

The weight glued to his front disappeared so suddenly it left Faramir dizzy, his balance requiring him to prop himself up with one arm braced against the side window. Aragorn grinned at him and fell to his knees, looking up at the prince, before he dove forward and licked a long stripe over his length. Faramir was sure he would bite off his own tongue in a desperate attempt to stay quiet when those clever lips closed around him. 

It took less than a couple of deep sucks and he was spilling himself inside his lord’s mouth, groaning incoherently, his knees barely able to hold him upright. 

Once he was done, Aragorn tucked him away again and righted his clothes, before he rose and kissed Faramir deeply, the taste of himself on his king’s tongue making his head spin. The prince took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then looked at Aragorn, whose arms wrapped themselves around Faramir’s waist. 

“Let me go,” Faramir said quietly, but not quietly enough to be ignored. Aragorn tensed against him, pulling away slightly, his hands still resting on Faramir’s hips.    
“Mir?” The confusion mixed with fear was almost comical, and Faramir had to bite the inside of his cheek not to chuckle.    
“I said, let me go. Please.” He added the last bit just to confuse his king a little more. Aragorn stepped away hesitantly, his eyes going wider with every moment that passed. He was already opening his mouth to apologize, led to believe that he had miscalculated somehow. 

He didn’t have a chance. 

As soon as Faramir was free, he grabbed his king and spun him around, walking them both the two and a half steps of space, until he had Aragorn pressed face-first against the window. The meeting had probably adjourned itself, what with them being absent for so long and all. Why waste the suddenly free afternoon? 

Grinning mischievously, the prince grabbed Aragorn’s wrists and brought them up, placing his king’s hands on the cool glass.    
“Keep them here,” he commanded, nibbling at the shell of Aragorn’s ear, delighting in the helpless moan he was rewarded with. The noises got louder when Aragorn’s breeches hit the floor a moment later, and Faramir’s insistent tongue found its way between his legs. 

And if the guards, alerted by the sounds - led by their training and Aragorn’s previous rants about privacy in his  _ own damned castle _ \- barricaded the whole wing and forbid anyone from entering, well… Faramir was not going to complain. Not when Aragorn started to curse in his lovely, Elvish tongue and his knees shook ever harder with every stab of his prince’s talented fingers. It looked like they had time, after all, and Faramir wasn’t going to waste it. 


End file.
